


music to watch boys to

by retorica



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Dom!Billy, Dubious Consent, Forced Intimacy, Hand Jobs, M/M, sub!Steve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-06 03:40:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12808809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retorica/pseuds/retorica
Summary: 2x04. Shower scene. He looks so defenseless and entirely delicious, like you could warm your knuckles on his blood.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so trash for these two.

"Pretty boy like you has nothing to worry about. Plenty of bitches in the sea." He chuckles softly to himself, because that was a great line, wasn't it? And Harrington should be so lucky he's being civil. 

Hell, he even gave the kid a few tips out on the court. 

But did "King Steve" thank him for it? Of course not. He's an ungrateful little asshole. Right now he's lathering his hair, pretending to ignore him. 

Like he fucking could. 

He takes a step closer to "pretty boy", staring at the necklace of wet beads which trail down his scrawny, slim body. He looks so defenseless and entirely delicious, like you could warm your knuckles on his blood. 

He'd like nothing better. This kid brings out the rage in him. 

He reaches out with his thumb and brushes a few drops of water from Steve's bellybutton. Harrington's still got soap in his eyes, so while his body jerks away at the touch, it takes him a few moments to realize what's happening.

By the time Billy's got his hand wrapped around his dick, Steve can only stand still, frozen in shock. It's like stepping into the upside down, like reaching into one of those slimy openings, except the opening is around his cock.

_Holy shit._

Shampoo glides down his forehead in large dollops. He can't open his eyes.

Billy's so close now, his hot breath hits him in the shoulder, right below his ear.

"Am I right, Harrington?" His hand is gripping his shaft in a way that feels like a menace. As if any moment now, Billy could fucking rip his dick off. Is this some twisted game? Some fucked-up show of dominance?

Steve has never been held like this, not by a girl, not by his own sweaty hand under the covers. Nothing ever prepared him for this and he wants to scream, but when Billy's thumb brushes coarsely over the tip of his cock, Steve's hips stutter.  The sensation is like being pricked with a needle and...wanting to be pricked again. 

"R-Right about what?" Steve asks weakly, shampoo stinging his eyes. 

"About the bitches in the sea..." Billy whispers, moving his fingers up and down Steve's cock with the kind of dexterity of past experience. He's not gentle, but he knows how to work his length, he knows how to slide his hand over the ridges, knows how to make the blood rush to the tip...Shit, he even knows how to fondle his balls.

He knows it's gotta be like beads of water, falling on you from above. 

"I...yeah..." Steve says stupidly, feeling himself grow shamefully hard. He thinks it's out of his control. He doesn't _want_ to get hard, he's not attracted to this mullet-wearing asshole. But a handjob is a handjob. 

"Do you wanna be my bitch?" Billy asks quietly, lips grazing the back of Steve's neck. Despite the steam enveloping them like a blanket,  Steve feels a cold chill down his spine and his cock stirs so badly, he's leaking precum into Billy's hand. 

He knows this has to be a trick, a sick prank. Any minute now, Hargrove is gonna slap his dick away and laugh in his face. _Pretty boy is also a queer, ha ha._

But even if this is all a travesty, he can't help but give into it. He's too far gone. He'll take the slapping.

"Say you do," Billy coaxes, dragging his dick forward, scratching it with his nails, teasing him - jerking him off in quick and steady motions, slowing down, alternating back and forth, keeping him on edge. 

Steve issues a frustrated groan, but it doesn't sound like his voice. It doesn't sound like anyone's voice. 

Billy pauses in his ministrations. "I can't hear ya, Harrington." 

"Don't -"

"Don't _what_?" And he squeezes his swollen cock without relieving it. 

"Don't make me say it."

" _Oooh_ , are you shy, pretty boy? No one's here to hear you." 

Steve tilts his head back. He's still in darkness. Maybe he'll never open his eyes again. Maybe this isn't real.

 _But fuck it,_ he wants to come so bad. He wants to come all over Hargrove's hand. 

"I do...I wanna be..." he chokes out, feeling the words stuck in his throat.

"Go on, _darlin_ '," Billy teases, pumping the head slowly with thumb and forefinger. 

" _Aaah_ ," Steve moans. "..bitch... _your_ bitch..."

"Course you do," Hargrove growls and his voice is low and husky and a little unstable, just like him. 

He only has to pump a few more times for Steve to completely unravel. Billy milks him fucking dry. 

"Oh, shit, oh, _shit_ ," Steve moans and he feels Billy's other arm coming around his waist, anchoring him. His own hand is sunk on Billy's shoulder, clawing at the wiry muscle.

His body is no longer his. 

The two stay locked like this until his orgasm subsides. Anonymous skin against anonymous skin. Their breaths almost mingle. Steve can't see, but he can _taste_ and he knows that Billy's mouth must be close to his. The thought terrifies him. 

Before he can react, a jet of hot water hits him straight in the eyes.

Steve stumbles back, covering his face. Billy's turned on the shower again without warning. 

When he opens his eyes, he can see Hargrove licking his fingers.

 _Jesus fuck_. He's licking off _his_ cum.  

His own dick is hard, as if mocking Steve's spent and flaccid cock. He wonders if he expects him to...return the favor. Steve swallows. The idea doesn't entirely repel him. 

Billy grins like a little shit. "Don't forget, Harrington. You're my bitch now." And he taps him on the chest with the same hand he used to jerk him off. " _Mine_."

The word holds a promise and a threat. It's possessive and estranged. 

Steve spits out hot water from his mouth.

Billy saunters confidently out of the showers, leaving his pretty boy behind...but never too far away. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo, i may or may not have decided to continue this. these two have a hold on me. just a small warning, the dynamic is pretty trash and uneven in the first chapters. we're dealing with a closeted dom!billy and sub!steve. that being said, billy's family life will be addressed as their relationship deepens. i just need to write about my trash babies.
> 
> for anyone who'd like to check it out, i made a little harringrove playlist (that's how deep i'm in lol) https://8tracks.com/retorica/music-to-watch-boys-to

News of his break-up with Nancy travels fast around school. There’s an extra layer of humiliation in the whole thing since the guy who “stole” his girl is seen as the school weirdo. Steve knows Jonathan is decent and even fun to be around on good days, but he can’t help but hate him a little right now. Did he and Nancy really have to skip class together? They could’ve waited; they could’ve been – he resents the word – _sensitive_ about it.

But they didn’t think about him, what this would _do_ to him. A bunch of assholes are already speculating his dick doesn’t work right anymore, that’s why Nancy had to find a _real_ man. Steve has a niggling suspicion that he knows _exactly_ who came up with that rumor. He sees him every morning in the parking lot.

Billy leans idly against his car, surveying his kingdom with total cocksureness.

It seems as if he’s sweeping everyone in his jeering gaze, but he’s always got _one_ target in mind. Steve feels the weighted look on his back, the way it slithers between his shoulder blades, like the tongue of a snake. He ducks his head and walks quickly towards the school doors, muttering under his breath.

The incident in the showers now seems like a distant, made-up dream. Billy certainly doesn’t bring it up during next practice. He taunts and blocks Steve and tries to make him stumble, but it’s the same macho attitude that he’s known for. He doesn't seem affected by their recent activities. Their bodies bounce together, the sweat pressing them closer, but Billy is focused on wresting the ball away and beating him down. There’s no underlying tension, nothing to echo what happened last time. At least…Steve doesn’t _think_ so. You can never be sure with boys. One moment it's pure violence, the next it's unbearable intimacy. 

When he locks eyes with Billy, the bastard winks and licks his lips, but gives nothing away.

Steve chickens out when it’s time to get into the showers. He doesn’t want to be naked around him, he doesn’t want to be exposed. He can still feel the imprint of his hand on his cock and it makes him want to throw up. He drives all the way back to his house and stands under the jet of hot water and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes.

He's not - he's never - of course he's not _gay_. He likes girls, he's always liked girls. 

He’s just being an idiot. What happened last time was only a fluke, a show of dominance. Like gorillas in the jungle. Billy wanted to prove a point and fuck with him. Steve can’t just lie down and take it. He has to stand his ground.

He stares down at himself. Ever since that shower, he hasn’t been able to touch himself - even in the most innocent ways. When he combs his hair in the morning, he has to be careful with the back of his neck. Once, he scratched it by accident and his whole body _shuddered_ , as if taken by surprise. It’s because Billy’s lips ghosted there and now that patch of skin is haunted. He’d like to burn it.

He takes his length in hand now and gives it a few hesitant pumps. It’s clear he won’t get far with this. Steve steps out of the shower, trailing water in his wake. Maybe the assholes are right – his dick isn’t working right anymore.

 

 

The fact that he’s been dumped so publicly has dented Steve’s reputation to some degree, but to the female population, his new lonely status has a strong appeal. Every girl wants to take care of the sad, tortured puppy dog who’s been kicked to the curb. Especially if that puppy dog has great hair.

So he’s not entirely surprised when Ally McKinley offers to lend him her History notes.  She’s good friends with Nancy, but she tells him in no uncertain terms that she doesn’t approve of her new pick for boyfriend. Steve tells her it’s actually Nancy’s business now and he no longer cares, but Ally clearly doesn’t believe him and thinks he’s just being very _mature_ about the whole thing. Steve would like to contradict her, but he really needs the ego boost. He walks to lunch with her and lets her think that he’s a deep, sensitive soul. She’s eyeing him in that particular way – that way you know when a girl is into you. He knows that he _could_ probably get to second base with her right this afternoon. But that’s old Steve, isn’t it?

He’s too distracted to notice a pair of sharp eyes watching him from across the cafeteria.

 

 

Ally stops by his locker the next day and pretends that she really gives a damn about her History notes. She’s disappointed that he didn’t make a move yesterday. She’s decided to take the initiative. Steve gives her notes back with a polite thank you. She smiles at him dreamily, pushing a stray lock behind her ear and he can’t help but picture her as a loyal, if overly excited Cocker Spaniel. It’s good to feel wanted, he supposes. He doesn't know why it doesn't carry the same thrill anymore.

Ally stammers a little as she offers to tutor him after school. 

 “Jeez, I didn’t know I was that bad,” he jokes, stashing his books inside the locker.

“Oh, gosh no, it’d be more like brainstorming together. I’m lousy at studying, so you’d actually be tutoring _me_ ,” Ally protests with a small laugh.

“Okay, now you’re giving me too much credit.”

 “I’m not, really. I just think it’d be fun to hang out and study. Kill two birds with one stone.”

“What’s this talk of _killing_ birds?” a needling voice calls out behind them. Billy Hargrove saunters in his line of sight, half his shirt unbuttoned. Steve’s jaw clenches instinctively. He wonders why no one has called him into the principal’s office yet for breaking the dress code. I mean, he’s practically showing his whole chest. He tries not to look at the necklace dangling against his collarbone.

“Billy,” Ally mumbles, losing her pluck. Every girl in school has a secret crush on him, but he’s got impossible standards and won’t actually _date_ anyone.  He’s the kind of bad boy who’s _really_ bad. Everyone thinks he only goes out with older women. 

“You’re gonna be late for class, darling,” he says, sizing her up like she’s a glass of milk, though his eyes remain strangely hollow.

She’s visibly flustered by the way he looms over her and Steve wonders why Billy gets such a turn-on from making people feel small. But…it’s better not to think about that.

Ally darts away from his grasp, waving a nervous goodbye at Steve.

Steve slams his locker shut. _Remember, stand your ground._

“What do you want, Hargrove?”

Billy folds his arms across his chest which only pushes his pecs into relief. It's hard to ignore them. Is he doing this on purpose? Showing off his body?

“I see you took my advice. About other bitches in the sea.”

Steve looks at him dubiously. “I’m not discussing that with you.”

“Ohoo, someone’s a little frosty today. It’s okay, I get it.” And he leans over, one stubborn curl falling into his eyes. “That was the first time someone handled your pretty boy dick, huh?”

Steve’s whole body grinds to a halt and he finds it difficult to get air into his lungs. No, he _can’t_ be talking about that. The clamor in the hallway grows dimmer as the voices fade away. Jesus, did anyone _hear_ him?

“I mean…sure, maybe Nancy got around it once or twice,” Billy goes on quietly. “But let’s face it, the broad had no idea what she was doing.”

“Don’t – don’t talk about her, or _that_ ,” Steve interjects, clenching his fists around his schoolbag. “In fact, do the world a favor and shut the fuck up.”

Billy’s nostrils flare and his eyes narrow visibly. That’s the trouble with him. You never know what he’ll do, whether he’ll jump you or laugh in your face. A few seconds later he starts sniggering. He _loves_ stirring shit up.

Steve releases a small breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Looks like I gotta teach you some manners again, Harrington,” he says and his hand comes up to Steve’s jacket, fingering the lapels intently, hands aching to grab him and inflict damage.

Any onlooker would think he’s about to punch him. Steve stands very still. He’s got his right hook ready, just in case.

“I told you not to forget. “ Billy’s eyes spark with malevolence. “You’re my bitch now.”

Steve raises his chin as Billy’s fingers almost graze his Adam’s apple. He swallows thickly.

“Take your hands off me.”

“That’s not what you said in the shower, pretty boy,” Billy coos, but his voice is thick with menace. He’s so good at making you squirm.

But Steve is not going to put up with it. “Leave me alone or I’ll tell people.”

Billy cocks his head to the side, like a hyena contemplating its prey. His eyes are so blue, they could almost cut you. He speaks so quiet, it’s almost a whisper. “Tell people _what_? That you came all over my fingers? That I made you my bitch?”

Steve grits his teeth. “Stop _calling_ me that.”

“Don’t worry, Harrington. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll only answer to it.”

Steve wants to knock him flat on his back and wipe the shit-eating grin off his lips, but he also feels his stomach clench painfully at the thought and – shit, shit, _shit_ , this is not happening. He’s not supposed to have a reaction to this. _Any_ of this.

Billy pats his cheek condescendingly. “See you after school, pretty boy.”

He swaggers away as if he’s got nothing to worry about, as if the whole world is his, but Steve stands next to his locker for a long time, just trying to gather his bearings.

 _After school._ What happens after school? What does he want to do?

Shit, his palms are sweating, he’s breathing like he’s run a marathon. He has to get a grip. This is _his_ territory. Billy is the new guy. And yet, he already got under his skin. He made him lose control in the shower.

God, what if he loses control again?

Steve shuts his eyes. He's just a bully. You don't reason with bullies. You fight them, and you win. He just has to make sure he'll win. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for your kudos and reviews! i'm not super-pleased with this chapter cuz i'm always nervous about writing smut, but let me know how you like it! their dynamic is still solidly in trash territory, with a hint of something else...

Steve doesn’t want to, but his eyes slide from time to time to the clock on the wall. Time passes by so slowly. He taps his foot under the desk, doodling inchoate figures in his notebook while Mr. Glenfield drones on about quadratic inequalities.

Here’s a quadratic inequality – Billy Hargrove is both greater than and less than zero. He’s a crooked parabola on the axis of symmetry.

Steve hates waiting for things to happen. He wants the bell to ring just so he can be _done_ with this whole thing.

He’s not afraid. He’s going to march out in the parking lot with both fists clenched and he’ll make sure Billy never bothers him again.

When he looks down at his notebook, he notices a definitive shape taking form. It looks like a teardrop or an earring. Steve slams the notebook shut.

 

 

Steve surveys the parking lot in anticipation. He identifies the freckled redhead – Billy’s kid sister – drawing circles around the car with her skateboard.

But no Billy.

_Huh._

Maybe he decided to quit. Maybe he realized he wasn’t worth the trouble. Or maybe he’s hiding, waiting to jump on Steve when he’s not paying attention.

Steve stalks carefully towards his car at the end of the row. He glares left and right, sending out a “don’t fuck with me” signal to anyone in his orbit. But there’s no one there.

He pulls the car door open and his shoulders sag. This is probably what Billy wanted – for him to feel watched and unsafe.  _Asshole_. He doesn’t have the guts to confront him, but he’ll make him sweat.

He sits down behind the wheel with a frustrated sigh and fights the instinct to run a hand through his hair. He doesn’t want to mess it up. Anyway, what does he care? He’s acting like a stupid –

The rest of his thoughts break off like snowflakes in a blizzard. His windpipe gets crushed and he loses his breath all at once. A cold hand is wrapped around his throat, squeezing.

“Was wondering when you’d show up, pretty boy.”

Billy’s voice hits him from behind like a cold splash of water. In the first few seconds, Steve is paralyzed and only aware that his lungs are running out of air. His hands clench convulsively on the steering wheel.

Billy gradually loosens his grip, but he doesn’t let go of him. He’s sitting in the backseat, but his mouth is close - poised right against his ear. “Easy, easy. Don’t get your panties in a twist. Just start the car and drive us out of here.”

Steve claws at the hand around his neck, but Billy tightens his grip. The violence behind it is unmistakable. There is real thirst in Billy’s gesture. What does he thirst for?

Steve is almost – sickeningly - _curious_.

This has to be a risk for him. They’re in public. Anyone could walk by…

“How – the hell – did you get in my car?” Steve asks in halted fragments.

Billy chuckles against his ear. “You’re a bunch of trusting folks in Hawkins. Don’t know how to lock up your cars. Now _drive_.”

 

 

He couldn’t tell you why he obeys. Why he starts the engine.

Some things are instinctual. They’re bad for you, no doubt about it. But your body wants to find out just _how_ bad.

 

 

Steve brakes the car aggressively, making Billy’s boot thump against the back of his seat. They’re parked in a deserted alley with only trash cans and stray cats for company.

Perfect, really.

“Okay, what the hell do you want? Is it money? Is – is that what this is about?” Steve asks, turning around, his elbow connecting with Billy’s chest.

He knows, deep down, it’s not about money.

“Don’t insult me, Harrington,” Billy mutters and pulls himself into the front seat, pushing his elbow away.

Steve keeps his gaze on the windshield. He could just kick his door open and make a run for it. He could leave Billy hanging.

But something keeps him glued to his seat. His heart is racing and blood is pounding in his ears. He can smell Billy’s cheap, toxic cologne. He’s too close, or the car is too small. Anyway, he feels claustrophobic but he can’t remove himself from the situation.

“Look at you, shakin’ like a virgin on prom night,” Billy sniggers, chewing the end of a toothpick.

“ _Fuck_ you. You’re the creep who got in my car,” Steve retorts, clenching the steering wheel.

“Didn’t I tell ya I’d see you after school?”

“What do you _want_?”

Billy cocks his head to the side. “Didn’t think you were that slow, Harrington. Guess all you pretty boys get ahead on looks alone.”

Billy gets a bit more comfortable, sprawls in the seat, spreads his legs like he’s a Swedish buffet.

Steve feels a lump in his throat. “I’m not – what you –”

“No one is, until they meet me,” Billy leers with utmost confidence. But Steve can see the muscles flexing under his shirt. He’s tense, though he wants to give the impression of nonchalance.

“You’re _disgusting_.”

“Is that why you’re growing a tent in your pants?”

Steve clenches his jaw and steadfastly refuses to look down. Billy’s staring _straight_ at his crotch. Maybe it’s reverse psychology or some shit, because Steve can feel his cock stiffen under his watchful gaze. He wants to set himself on fire.

Billy unzips himself slowly, not taking his eyes off Steve. The sound of the zipper makes him think of metal against skin.

 _Shit. Shit. Look away. Look away_ , Steve tells himself over and over.

But once Billy pulls out his cock from his underwear, the game is already lost.

Billy grips his shaft tenderly, keeping it upright with his thumb. It’s thick and veiny and big enough to break your teeth.

 _Jesus_. Steve doesn’t know why he thinks about that.

He’s never liked the sight of his own dick. He’s always half-ashamed when he masturbates because genitals are inherently clumsy and misshapen, like snails left to decompose in the sun. They just don’t _look_ good.  They betray you every time.

And yet, he doesn’t feel this instinctive rejection about Billy’s dick. He wants to hate it, wants to laugh at it, but it’s as if every one of his senses is consumed by it.

He only caught flashes of it in the shower.  To see it now in its unvarnished glory, in the weak light from the alley, is intoxicating. Just like Billy.

There’s a sticky-sweet smell in the air.

Billy’s eyes are hooded.

“You just gonna stare all day, pretty boy?”

Steve could walk out even now and leave him with his pants around his ankles like an idiot. He’d enjoy that mental picture.

But somehow, there’s a bigger desire in him, unknown and unfathomable.

It’s terrifying to wake up and not know who you are. He can’t really remember his name.

He eases forward, like a shy animal foraging for food.

He places his unsteady hand over Billy’s. Fingers meeting fingers – both of them touching his cock. Billy doesn’t look away from his face for one moment. His gaze is level and playful, but there is so much seriousness in it too. He guides Steve’s hand up and down his shaft.

Steve is trembling, uncertain of himself, but he is absorbed by the texture of his foreskin, the hardness, the softness underneath, the smell – everything that makes up this physiognomy. He feels it flush in his hand, and he feels Billy’s fingers over his, jacking himself off. It’s…like nothing he’s ever experienced.

And before he knows what he’s doing, he’s drawing closer to Billy, knocking knees, thigh against thigh. He’s being slowly sucked into this vortex and there’s no going back.

Billy half-closes his eyes, though his gaze is still directed at Steve.

“You’re a rookie, huh?” he drawls quietly and it doesn’t sound like a reproach. Hell, it sounds like this turns him on.

Steve licks his lips. Billy’s dick feels rock-hard and slippery, and he wants to see it come all over his fingers.  He lowers his head a few inches unconsciously.

Suddenly, Billy’s hand is on his jaw, gripping it tight.

“ _Don’t_.”

Steve looks up at him in shock. He tastes the salt of Billy’s palm on his lips.

“ _I_ tell you when to suck me off.”

“I – I wasn’t gonna –”

Billy pulls his head forward until their breaths mingle. Steve can see his reflection in his eyes.

“If you’re a good boy, I’ll come _aaall_ over that pretty face one day.” 

Steve feels the shiver from the roots of his hair to the tip of his toes. He’s never hated anything more in his life, while wanting it at the same time.

He keeps pumping Billy’s dick messily, unaware of it anymore, only present to the hand gripping his jaw.

When Billy comes, his hips jerk forward and he tilts his head back, exposing his neck, the veins throbbing in his throat. He looks almost innocent with his mouth half-open, his eyes closed.

Steve doesn't think. He bites into his palm and Billy groans, issuing a soft and drawn-out " _fuuck_ ", pressing his hand against Harrington’s teeth, encouraging the violence.

 

 

Steve’s hands and lap are sticky with cum. He doesn’t move. He just sits there, staring at the proof of what transpired. Sometimes, if it weren’t for these physical remnants, we’d never know for sure if something was real.

Billy zips himself up without much preamble. He doesn’t look Steve in the eye, although he’s got a swaggering grin on his lips.

He holds out his left hand away from his body as if it’s unclean. The one Steve bit into.

Billy didn’t expect that. He lost a small morsel of control in that moment, and he doesn’t like that.

He straightens his shoulders.

“I’ll see you around, Harrington,” he calls out with bravado and pushes the door open aggressively.

Billy shoves his hands in his pockets and looks both left and right before marching out in the street.

Steve watches him through the window. It happened. It was real. The proof is getting cold in his lap.

_Shit._


End file.
